


A Catch That Bites

by aposse



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:59:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aposse/pseuds/aposse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina drops the basket of dead fruit and lifts her chin up high, closing her eyes like it's an execution and Emma's holding the weapon. Then, when she holds the dreamcatcher over her — trailing it down her shoulder and to the tips of her fingers — it kind of stuns Emma, how beautiful Regina is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I merely borrowed the dreamcatcher idea from last week's episode. Let's pretend that scene never happened and replace it with some Swan Queen, okay? Okay.

"Seriously?" Emma's head tilts at what's held in front of her, her gaze then lifting to its holder with incredulity because he _really_ can't be serious.

 

"'Fraid I am." Mr. Gol— _Rumpelstiltskin_ replies.

 

It's kind of funny, Emma thinks, how naïve the people of the other world are sometimes. She's hung plenty of these dreamcatchers above her bedside in the foster homes she's been to, hoping with each night she falls asleep that it would just take away her dreams; take away the recurring abandonment each slumber haunted her with. That hope faded each morning she awoke, the loneliness that surrounded her colder than that of winter.

 

"It's a _dreamcatcher_." Emma emphasizes.

 

"And with magic," Oh, right. The magic thing. Rumpelstiltskin limps over to Snow and James then, gliding the dreamcatcher over their heads, "that's exactly what it does. Take a look."

 

He hands it over to Emma — dangles it, really that even Pongo sits obediently. Emma stares at it first, then shifts her gaze over to her ‘parents’, the blush on Snow's cheeks reddening with each moment that passes while James won't even look her in the eye.

 

"I'd rather not." Emma declines. Seeing _that_ with her own eyes the other morning had been scarring enough to last her a lifetime, and then some.

 

Rumpelstiltskin shrugs as he tries to hide the smirk on his face, shaking the memory away as he walks over to Pongo. "Shall we?"

 

"I _know_ Regina didn't do it."

 

"Why not ask Pongo to give your parents over here some peace, dearie?"

 

Emma doesn't let up. "This dreamcatcher, will I be able to do that on my own?" Her eyes flick down to her chest and he understands. "Since I... you know."

 

"Yes." Rumpelstiltskin answers.

 

She takes it from him without so much as a warning and gestures around her. "To Regina, then."

 

" _Emma._ " Her father's voice stops her in place and _god_ , they're only a handful of years apart so why does she still cringe at his reinforcement? "Who's word do you trust? Red's or Regina's?"

 

"Not Pongo's." Emma looks at both her parents and it's sad, really; for two people who've experienced life in different worlds, everything continues to be black and white.

 

* * *

 

 Emma doesn't know why she's so invested in proving Regina's innocence. A part of this is due to her job; as savior _and_ sheriff, she knows that much.

 

She also knows this is because of Henry. If it weren't for him the Queen wouldn't have thawed, wouldn't have become Regina Mills, the single mom and mayor of this cursed town in Maine and _that_ —

 

The curse is the very reason why she grew up the way she did, and though Emma would never wish it upon anybody else, her experiences are something she'd never swap for a throne.  Because as messed up as her life's been, she likes _who_ she is; she likes being Emma Swan and she'd rather be broken than be unmarred, in her own bubble of a castle where respect was given and not earned.

 

Another part of her knows that it's because she owes Regina, in a sense. How she'd given birth to such an amazing kid, Emma's still in awe. She remembers holding him the first (and what she thought would be the only) time, the way his small head fit against the crook of her arm in a manner she can’t call anything else but perfect. Yet what bubbled inside her the very moment he looked into her eyes frightened her, and it was then Emma had sent him away, knowing that if his flesh spent another second against hers, her mind would be changed in an instant. It was Regina who continued to hold him, feed him and rock him until he fell asleep. She tended to his cuts and kissed his bruises, clothed him and spoiled him and loved him. It was Regina who raised him, the conviction she instilled in Henry becoming her very own downfall.

 

" _Emma!_ " This time Snow yells it.

 

Then there's her parents. She's slammed her Bug shut and is past Regina's gate when they pull up in their car. She hears her name being called again; this is straight up rebellion, and Regina's pretty much the equivalent to that boy her parents would've told her to stay away from. If they, you know, had actually _been_ there. Making up for lost time, Emma justifies.

 

But when she gets to Regina's door and knocks with the dreamcatcher in hand, something begins to slither its way up her spine, tarnishing her ever-so-brave stance. Emma then feels it in her fingers; they tingle and they itch and it's only when the door opens to a conflicted greeting does the realization dawn.

 

She's doing this _for_ Regina. Not because it's her job, a favour owed or to get a kick out of defying her parents— it's for Regina and there's no truer reason than that.

 

"I've given my statement already and until you have further evidence other than an unreliable source, I suggest—"

 

"I have this." Emma holds up the dreamcatcher.

 

Regina's eyes flicker with recognition at the what she holds, and just as quickly as the hope rises it falls. "No."

 

Emma scowls. "Wha— Regina, this thing is what's gonna stop the town from burning down your house. If we can just see what you were doing last night, we can prove your innocence." Snow and James have caught up now. She can feel them burning holes into Regina, standing on either side of her like she needs the protection.

 

(She doesn't)

 

"That only works with magic, and I'm afraid your mother and father wouldn't trust mine. You know how dark magic is. Besides, I promised Henry—"

 

"I can do it." Emma offers too eagerly, and she restrains her voice from rising with the fluttering in her chest.

 

"You," Regina begins, eyes narrowing before they open wide with realization, " _you_ have magic?"

 

"Yes, she does." James crosses his arms over his chest like a proud father and it makes Emma's stomach churn. Two days reunited and they're already doing too good of a job at parenting, overwhelming pride and all.

 

"Your mother tried to take her heart." Snow simply says, and the lack of emotion in it makes Emma turn to her. "Cora tried, but she couldn't get it."

 

She turns back to Regina, whose eyes are burning with rage and another emotion that Emma can't place. It's triggered something— set something off in Regina that turns the dial up on her hostility.

 

"Regina," Emma tries calling the woman back into their world, this crazy mix between magic and despair.

 

"No." Regina says again. This time her answer is directed at Snow. "Though you can confine my body to this finite space, you _cannot_ pull my thoughts and look at what they are. That is something _I_ _choose_ to keep confined and quite frankly, what you're asking for is far too invasive." Had Emma's eyes not been wide with confusion from the turn of conversation, she’s sure she would have missed it; the brief sincerity Regina blinks her way before slamming the door shut.

 

"We tried to warn you, Emma." The consolation doesn’t quite register; it's like the wind, just brushing against her ear as she walks against it to her Bug.

 

* * *

 

She returns later in the day. Emma knows Regina won't answer the door so, instead, just hops over the little fence to her backyard. "Why don't you want this?" She says, startling Regina who's now tending to her apple tree.

 

She plucks off a dead fruit. "I don't need your help."

 

"Henry needs you to be innocent." It's kind of a low blow, using the kid to get Regina to do what she wants, but it works. Regina stops for a moment, tilting her head slightly in Emma's direction before turning her way completely.

 

"I didn't kill Archie." She says it like Henry would say, _the curse is real,_ and it almost makes Emma smile. It's the truth, she knows.

 

"Then let me do this." The dreamcatcher dangles between them. When Regina looks down at it — when she lets her gaze falter and her brows furrow at the sight — Emma finally places that lost emotion: fear. "It, it won't hurt." She offers, but Regina just scoffs at that, in a defeated kind of way that makes something inside Emma hurt.

 

"But what you see will."

 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

 

Regina stays silent for more moments than she can count. "Where are your parents?"

 

"At the station."

 

Emma takes a few steps forward as Regina does the same, the anxiety knit between her brows tracing its way down to her lips. "This is for your eyes only. This is the truth and if I so much see any more pity in your eyes—"

 

"Regina—"

 

" _I'm not blind._ I know what you really think when you're kind to me, Emma. I know you pity me. I know _thi_ s," her finger gestures between them, "is for Henry. So get it over with, prove me innocent and run back to your little family."

 

Regina drops the basket of dead fruit and lifts her chin up high, closing her eyes like it's an execution and Emma's holding the weapon. Then, when she holds the dreamcatcher over her — trailing it down her shoulder and to the tips of her fingers — it kind of stuns Emma, how beautiful Regina is. So she goes over again, giving herself more time to watch the rise and fall of Regina's chest and the twitch in her lips when the magic starts to gather.

 

"Okay." Emma says, not really sure how to tell Regina to open her eyes.

 

She takes the dreamcatcher by both hands and stares into it. Emma squints her eyes, furrows her brows and tries with all her might to produce an image but nothing happens. _Really?_ She's clutching at it now, lips frowning as her cheeks warm with embarrassment.

 

"I can't. I thought I could do it, I mean, I know I can but—"

 

Regina's hand wraps around her wrist. It’s neither loose nor tight, the fingers drumming once against her pulse in a way that makes her feel safe. She raises Emma's hands up again. " _Focus_." She instructs. "Focus on that." Regina lets go of her wrist to point at a particular spot, where the thread all gathers and the light it glows with is most bright.

 

Emma tries again; she puts all her energy and focus into that one spot. It takes a few moments, but the light the dreamcatcher glows with finally forms into a wave, into an image. And then it's black. For a frustratingly long time, all Emma sees is black and just as she's about to give in to her frustrations and give up with this stupid thing, she sees it.

 

Two hands pull away the darkness. They're stained with something black and when the hands rise back up, she sees the mascara. A thumb wipes just under the wooden frame of the dreamcatcher. The fingers lift up and they're marked black too, the dark substance seeping into the distinct lines of skin on a thumb. Then the hands are gone and the image becomes a reflection of Regina in a mirror. _Oh_. Emma tries to hold her focus, tries to continue to watch but that _pain_ in her throbs unbearably at the sight. She watches until she can't. Not because her magic is weak, but because her heart is; it drums with a pain she can't quite understand, but she’s familiar with it. Her last view is of Regina cupping her mouth with a hand, the image now blurry as tears fall from the dark eyes without pause.

 

Then the image fades and she's looking at grass.

 

It takes Emma a few moments to gather her energy. She can feel the tips of her fingers tingle at the current of her magic, and she drops the dreamcatcher in an attempt to make it subside. But her fingers still tingle, and it isn't until Emma feels the emotion gathering behind her eyes that the word falls from her lips. "I'm," she begins, not really knowing where she's going with her thought. Emma looks at Regina and it's the moment their eyes lock that she realizes this mistake.

 

"Innocent?" Regina supplies. Her jaw is locked and her eyes are lined with a wetness so faint that Emma almost misses it.

 

"I'm sorry." She says, because she is. Her gaze rips away from Regina's at the apology.

 

"I take it you understand why I'd rather not have Snow or James around to see that."

 

Emma nods. She takes a few breaths before saying, "I'm sorry," again.

 

Regina's eyes look glossier now. "If you were in a room full with people who wanted nothing more from you than death, you'd be doing the same."

 

Emma hugs her then. It's all she can think to do and another apology would probably just annoy the hell out of Regina. She feels her squirm under the embrace, trying push her way out of it, but Emma just holds on tighter. Regina isn't the only one to be taken by surprise; she doesn't know why she's reacted this way, either. Emma isn't the hugging type (she can even count the times she's hugged Henry).

 

But this is something her body just simply did; an action done with the instinct Emma's always trusted. And just when the smallest bit of doubt begins to creep its way in, she feels Regina hug back. It feels... familiar, the arms wrapping around her in a way that makes her feel right, like the only thing they were meant to do was this. Then a breath is released against her and that's when Emma feels it.

 

Defeat.

 

"I'm sorry." Emma whispers it this time, and she hopes that Regina doesn't feel the tear that's just fallen on her blazer. "I'm sorry." She doesn't know what it's for, but she _feels_ it — so strongly that she repeats it until Regina crumbles in her hold.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her magic is a funny thing. It runs through her like blood and flows out like the air that she breathes. It’s part of her as much as it isn’t and for the short time she’s had it, Emma’s used to it. But what it does now — the way it seeps out her pores and wraps her hand in its current, coating her skin with an itch for Regina — isn't something she's used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot seeped its way back into my mind and became multi-chapter. If you have read the first chapter, I suggest you reread it to not only refresh your mind, but also because I've rewritten and edited quite a bit of it. Thank you for all the reads and kudos, it means a great deal. Thank you also to my beta, Sophie (aurorstorm) for editing the hell out of this chapter and helping me bring it to a place where I'm satisfied. I have nothing but gratitude for you! As for the rest of you reading this, I do hope you enjoy.

 

The moment Regina walks through her apartment door, Emma can almost feel the threat Sno— her mother’s eyes bore into the back of her head. "Hey," Emma breathes out the greeting. She ignores the two gasps behind her, the small shuffle of steps that coincide with it as her mother, without a doubt, moves to cling to her _one true love_. Emma tries not to roll her eyes.

 

"Emma?" she can hear the warning in her father’s (nope, still not used to it) question, the fear it's laced with not lost on her.  She imagines that he's reached at his hip now, grasping for a sword that isn't there; old habits, Emma thinks.

 

Regina ignores them, too. She closes the door behind her in a meek manner but still with a confidence that never seems to falter. Then, when her father's voice comes to meet the air around them, this time spitting out Regina's name, her bowed head fixes a dark glare over Emma's shoulder. That faint nod says it all.

 

_Snow. James._

 

She can almost hear Regina drawl out their names. Then that glare pulls back over her shoulder and when it fixes on Emma, it softens. Regina blinks and whatever hostility her eyes held is no longer there. What resides in them, Emma concludes, is timidness.  "Miss—"

 

She narrows her gaze as Regina steps closer.

 

"Emma." Regina corrects herself. The loss of formality earns her a small smile.

 

Emma's perched over the kitchen island as her parents lean against the counter behind her. The closer Regina moves, she notices, the farther they shuffle away. Regina rounds the island and stands next to Emma — not too close and not too far, but just enough that the ends of their spaces overlap.

 

"I must say, Snow, you've done an adequate job at making this place your own."

 

"Cut it, Regina," her father says a little too loudly, "Why are you here?" He leans over the side that's opposite to them and it’s then that Emma sighs;  she knows when people feign confidence — when the authority they exert is just a wall they hide behind in fear, when the fists they clench are to hide their tremble rather than their anger. It's what her father’s doing this very moment and it’s pathetic, really. For a man with the potential to hold so much power, he has none — not even over his own body.

 

She’s pulled out of her thoughts at the clearing of a throat. She looks to Regina, then to her parents and that's when Emma realizes it’s not _Regina_ they’re afraid of. It’s her — _their_ _daughter_ , the product of true love, who’s asked their adversary to come into their home unannounced.

 

"I asked her to come," she finally says. It causes a flash of hurt to pass through her mother's eyes, and for that Emma winces. Her mother, despite being Snow White, is still her mother and any pain she displays reaches Emma too. "She didn't do it."

 

"How could you possibly know that?" Snow asks. Her head is tilted in question while her lips frown with grief at her loss; the loss of Archie or the loss of her daughter by their side, Emma isn't sure.

 

"You didn't tell them." Regina states it more than asks, the amusement in her tone evident.

 

Emma runs a hand through her hair. She’s beginning to feel it again; the determination in her stance sinks deep into her bones, finally feeling the tingle and itch in her fingers once more. Her tenacity in proving Regina’s innocence melts the trepidation in her voice. "That's why I brought you all together, isn't it?"

 

They haven't talked about that day. She doesn't think they ever will. But to have had the chance to hold Regina — to feel every muscle in her body contract with each sob, to feel the tears drip down her chest and to feel the defeat that sagged against her — is a chance Emma oddly wishes to have again.

 

It ended too soon the first time.

 

Her fingers get caught in a tangle near the end of their run and Emma pulls away from her hair roughly, like Regina did that day when the realization dawned. Minutes had passed between them. Minutes of shaking sobs and hushed assurances, and it was only when the wind blew a heavy breeze that she felt Regina stiffen against her. Emma was pushed— _wrenched_ away from the body that clung to her. The limbs that wrapped languidly around her were suddenly at her shoulders, hands grabbing fistfuls of fabric as Regina pushed her away. She stumbled in her heels and her back was still hunched with defeat, but Emma knew; Regina was rebuilding her walls.The grass that tainted her jeans and hands weren’t as much a surprise as Regina’s retreating form. Nothing, though, tainted her as much as the words that were left in her wake.

 

_You got what you came here for, now run along._

 

"She used her magic." Regina says, filling the air of Emma's absence. It’s what pulls her from her thoughts once more — that voice, that very tone Emma recognizes. Desolation. She finds it strange for such a tone to leave pursed lips; Regina Mills isn’t one to let that sort of thing slip, but it’s happened twice already and Emma can’t ignore the way it worries her.

 

"I went back and used the dreamcatcher on Regina." Emma finally explains.

 

"What did you see?" Her mother’s hands are clasped over her father’s shoulder, chin resting on them with a genuine curiosity.

 

Emma sees the way Regina tenses next to her. Feels it, really. "She didn't do it. I saw what she did that night and she didn't do it."

 

"What did you see?" Her father asks it this time.

 

"Do you trust me or not?"

 

"We trust you, Emma. We just don't—"

 

"Stop." She crumples and throws out that excuse before it’s even written. "She didn't manipulate me. I _know_ what I saw, and whoever Ruby— whoever _Red_ saw, it _wasn't_ Regina."

 

"Her magic is pure," Regina adds. "You two, out of all people, should know that _nothing_ can taint its purity. Not even little old me."

 

Her parents shift their gaze away from Emma. "Why should we trust you?"

 

"You shouldn't. But your daughter does, and I wouldn't do anything to the only other person in this town who truly cares for Henry."

 

"We care for him," Her father hisses matter-of-factly, his posture suddenly as regal as his past title.

 

"Not like she does, and not like I do."

 

"You tried to _kill_ her," her mother reminds. It's directed more to her than it is to Regina, but Emma doesn't dare falter at that.

 

"There's a difference between death and eternal slumber, Snow White."

 

There's something in there. An apology, perhaps— an admittance that Emma doesn't know how to read, but it's there and however deep it's hidden Emma reaches out and takes it.

 

Her magic is a funny thing. It runs through her like blood and flows out like the air that she breathes. It’s part of her as much as it isn’t and for the short time she’s had it, Emma’s used to it. But what it does now — the way it seeps out her pores and wraps her hand in its current, coating her skin with an itch for Regina — isn't something she's used to. This _need_ isn’t something she’s familiar with. She tries to ignore it, tries to ball her hand into a fist but instead the back of her fingers brush against Regina’s. The skin against hers feels cool, and Regina’s fingers twitch away just as if they’d been burned. It surprises Emma when they swing back and graze against her knuckles.

 

"Look, we can't change what happened. It's messed up but we can't change it. But we can change this. _Now_." Emma’s hand then finds a way around Regina's wrist. She holds it like hers was held that day, neither too tight nor too loose. The faintest hint of a pulse throbs under her touch. "Regina is innocent, and she's been trying to change." It hurries at her next words: "I see it. Why can't you?"

 

Her parents are left without words — just furrowed brows and parted lips with tongues that are bitten to keep from asking anymore questions. "We'll, uh," her father starts, but doesn't really know how to continue.

 

"We'll tell the townspeople." The voice next to him is firm, yet an apology of some sorts lies beneath it.

 

What surprises Emma isn't the way her parents relent, but rather the way the wrist in her grip frees itself, her fingers startled to meet cool ones twining into a clasp. And though she’s able to keep her stern expression from faltering, Emma has no control over the way every muscle in her body burns at the contact. She squeezes at the bridge of their connection, securing Regina's hand in hers. It’s then that Emma smiles **.** The way her parents look at her with growing pride isn’t what causes it, rather the reciprocation of her touch. 

 

“We’ll see you later, Emma. Regina,” her mother says over her shoulder, glancing at the two women. Her parents both nod their goodbyes, closing the door behind them quietly. 

 

"Thank you." Regina mumbles, squeezing her hand once more before letting go. "For not telling them."

 

Emma just shrugs, flashing a small smile before she lets her lips curve down in thought. "Did you mean what you said? About Henry?"

 

"Yes."

 

"I really love him, you know."

 

"I know you do." Regina nods, her eyes fluttering at the admission. They stay cast down at the little space between them. Emma’s turned, resting her elbow on the kitchen island when Regina’s hands come together to rest on the surface. Her lips part and for a moment they stay that way, open, waiting for something to leave them but nothing ever does. Regina takes a breath then, closing her eyes as she swallows the words lodged in her throat, her fingers clasping tightly around one another as her jaw locks.

 

Then it happens. That's when Emma sees it, the apprehension. Regina is bracing herself for something that will never come. A catch.

 

“You’re innocent,” Emma says, her gaze unwavered to the sting of air, hoping to see some sort of assurance, _any reaction_ in Regina’s eyes that she believes it too.

 

“Of this.”

 

“You’re free to go.”

 

Regina laughs at that, again in that way that makes something inside Emma hurt. “That is something I’ll never be. What do I owe you?” She finally turns to face Emma.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Don’t do that.” Regina’s fingers twitch on the island counter, her nails scraping against it. “Don’t you _dare_ say I owe you nothing when we both know that I do.”

 

“What makes you think—”

 

“It _always_ comes with a price!”

 

Emma blinks once, twice, letting the rhythm of Regina’s chest slow before she asks it. “What does?”

 

“Magic.” Regina grits the word between her teeth. “Kindness.”

 

“Believe it or not, Regina, I did this because _I believed_ you were innocent.”

 

“And why would you?” Her nails rake against the counter as she tucks them into a fist. “After all these years— after _three decades_ of separating you from your family do you think I’d be innocent of anything?”

 

“Because you love the only thing I did right. That kid...” Emma’s eyes burn and her chest trembles at the truth. “Henry is the only thing I’ve ever done right and you did good by him.” 

 

He’s their neutral ground. He is what calms them and what unites them. He’s what makes them understand. Yet even without him, Emma gets it _._ An act of kindness has always been that; an _act—_ a performance that seeks an audience and a profit in their name. She gets it completely, understanding the hesitance in Regina’s actions and the way her words counter that with hostility. It’s a defence Emma knows too well. 

 

“I know there’s always somehow a catch to these things, but this time there isn’t.” 

 

“Funny how you’ve been so intent on proving my innocence, when the last time we were under these circumstances your intent was to prove me guilty.”

 

Which Regina was.

 

“I was right then,” Emma shrugs, trying not to dwell on that encounter for too long, “and I’m right now.”

 

Regina shrugs too, then looking down at the space between them. Silence falls upon their lips once more, only this time longer. Emma watches Regina carefully, the small twitch between her brows furrowing before they rise with frustration. Her lips close, then part as she inhales a breath before speaking. “Don’t do that. I can feel your pity.”

 

"You know, after all you've done to me, I should hate you more than anything. But I don't." 

 

Regina's head lifts up, disbelief etched onto her face as confusion leaves her lips. "I tried to _poison_ you."

 

“I remember,” Emma says. “And I kinda get why you tried to do that, but I was still mad at you.”

 

“As was I with myself.”

 

“That was... that was fucked up, Regina. Henry—”

 

“You don’t need to remind me.” It’s gritted between her teeth. The darkness in her eyes holds to the brightness in Emma’s. “I have enough trouble forgetting.” 

 

"I'm sorry.” Emma sighs, though her gaze is unfaltering at her apology. “I shouldn't have brought that up." 

 

Regina sighs in turn, blinking back her hostility. “You don’t do a very good job at comforting, Emma, but you certainly try.” Then she smiles, actually _smiles_ , but in a way that it never reaches her eyes. Yet it’s genuine and Emma wonders, after all that’s happened, how Regina’s still able to do that. 

 

Emma smiles in return. It’s small and it’s shaky and it’s nothing compared to the one she was given. “You gave this whole act up for Henry, to try to save him and in the end we did.”

 

“You,” Regina corrects, stepping back as she rounds the kitchen island. “You did.”

 

Emma reaches out to grab the other woman’s hand. “No _._ _We_ did.” Regina’s hand feels like ice, but it thaws quickly under her touch. She looks at the bridge of their connection before looking up at Emma. “And _we_ are going to be the ones to tell him you’re innocent.”

 

“What makes you believe he thinks otherwise?”

 

“It’s a small town. Word travels fast.”

 

Regina nods. She too understands that days have passed, that people will have noticed Archie’s absence and that whispers will have soon turned into cries. Emma leads them out the door without another word. As they stalk down the hallway and descend the stairs, it doesn’t occur to either of them that their fingers are still entwined. It only registers when Emma’s on the road, with both hands on the wheel, that she misses Regina’s touch.


End file.
